


Sounds of the Season

by Sed



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Collars, Declarations Of Love, Established Relationship, Holidays, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Praise Kink, The Feast of Winter Veil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:29:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21977359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sed/pseuds/Sed
Summary: Shaw has a holiday confession to make. Two, actually.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Comments: 19
Kudos: 104





	Sounds of the Season

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cadoan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cadoan/gifts).



> This was written for Cadoan for a little exchange we did, and I'm so late getting it posted. I totally blame the holidays (and anyone/thing else I can get away with blaming). Hopefully the fic makes up for how slow I've been.
> 
> A little (somewhat belated) treat for Winter Veil! 🎁

Arom’s stand was a depressing, dreary place. The single dirt road through the small outpost was well-traveled, and the supply wagons that rolled through on the hour left deep ruts in the mud that never seemed to dry. The situation wasn’t much better off the road, either; the ground was so saturated that every step Shaw took put him in dead grass and mud up to the tops of his boots, and squelched like something rotten. The sky was a dismal, dark gray, and the clouds billowed ominously overhead. The small tents that dotted the outpost were filled with weary travelers and refugees, and half of them were suspected of something untoward by the local watch.

To make matters worse, the people of Drustvar were a bit… strange. They didn’t quite hold to the same rituals and celebrations as those from the mainland, like Shaw, nor even the rest of Kul Tiras. Though there were Winter Veil decorations nailed to the doors and hanging from the lamps around the outpost, he knew most of those had been supplied by his own people. The Kul Tirans from Tiragarde and Stormsong weren’t interested in anything but getting the job done and going home, which was a sentiment Shaw, at least, could understand. _No one_ wanted to be in Drustvar. Not even the people who lived in Drustvar.

At any other time, he might have joined them in their lip-service sentiment. He hadn’t cared much one way or the other for the Hallow’s End decorations that had festooned the doorways, alleys, and lights of Boralus. He was unsurprised by the fondness for Brewfest, too. But there was something different about Winter Veil. Something that spoke to a part of him long since buried, and not often taken out into the light of day. A bit of awe that couldn’t help but become swept away by the lights and garlands and the spirit of giving.

That was why, unbeknownst to anyone else, he had made it a point to collect for himself all the most festive decorations he could find that he thought no one would miss. It was a modest assortment of mostly damaged garlands, some ornaments, and a small bow or two (or five), but that hardly mattered to him. It was enough to chase away the dank chill of Drustvar, and bring a little bit of light to an otherwise miserable assignment. And, perhaps most important of all, it was his; no one else had seen it, and no one would.

Well… with one possible exception.

Flynn Fairwind, one-time pirate and native Kul Tiran, had accompanied Shaw to Drustvar as his local guide. Shaw had his own misgivings about that, mostly because he didn’t usually make it a habit to take his lovers along on important missions, and Flynn had insisted. The Dazar’alor vault infiltration had been one thing; Flynn was just a somewhat-useful third party then, nothing but a pirate Shaw didn’t know. That had changed quickly. Almost overnight, in fact. The combination of adrenaline and the rush of victory had seen the two of them stumbling about in Shaw’s cabin aboard the _Wind’s Redemption_ , fingers tearing at every button and tie they could reach, mouths crushed together until the kisses were almost painful. At the time Shaw had assumed it was a one-off. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Most nights they met in secret somewhere out of the way, unlikely to be spotted by prying eyes. Hard to do in an outpost currently beset by Horde spies. His own agents had secured the perimeter since their arrival, but there was never a guarantee of total privacy. He suspected that was part of what made it so much fun for Flynn.

But on more than one occasion they had excused themselves after the evening meal and stolen away to Shaw’s room at the top of the inn, and on those nights Shaw had taken special pains to keep the lights low. He knew Flynn, he trusted Flynn, but not well enough in either case to give him this one small part of himself. Not yet. For the moment he preferred to keep his secret, and claim he kept the lights down for security reasons. An excuse his lover readily accepted, which Shaw supposed said more about him than it did about Flynn. But it did the job, and anyway, he had other things to worry about where Flynn was concerned.

They had been seeing each other for six months, give or take a day. Shaw knew the exact number down to the hour—down to the minute, in fact. He didn’t share that information with Flynn because he knew exactly how he would react, and he didn’t actually enjoy being teased for his “frankly creepy attention to detail,” as Flynn _so_ _often_ put it.

But the fact was, his feelings for Flynn Fairwind ran deeper than mere familiarity or even lust. He wanted Flynn in his life. Permanently, if possible. Maybe even officially. Coming from a man whose entire existence was more or less one long gamble, that was a rather significant step. And while that realization had frightened him at first, he had spent most of his time in Drustvar going over all the reasons why it wasn’t nearly as dangerous as it seemed. In the end he had come to one inescapable conclusion: he would have to say something.

That probably meant taking Flynn to his room, and _that_ probably meant keeping the lights on. A confession like his was unlikely to be received well in total darkness. And though a voice in the back of his mind had argued that _unlikely_ didn’t necessarily mean _impossible_ , he nevertheless settled on the fact that he couldn’t avoid it.

But for now, there was the feast.

Not exactly a feast of the sort Shaw was accustomed to back in the Eastern Kingdoms; the kind where people actually seemed to _enjoy_ sharing company and breaking bread over the same table. He had set one of his men to the task of organizing the feast, ostensibly to provide those at Arom’s Stand with a little reprieve from the dull monotony of Drustvar—and the witches. But in truth he simply needed it for himself. He was only human, after all. Though, he found unexpected allies in his struggle to breathe life into Winter Veil in the form of the lightforged draenei who had come to offer their martial support. Shaw would never admit it, but the walls of light that had been erected around the outpost were a welcome relief from the unending gloom.

Publicly, of course, he complained that they distracted his men and provided hiding places for Horde infiltrators.

In honor of their presence, and to thank those who were fighting to keep Arom’s Stand firmly in the hands of Kul Tiras and the Alliance, they were presently hosting a special guest. Lucille Waycrest, lady and only surviving member of House Waycrest, had come to stay at Arom’s Stand two days earlier. She was a kind, quiet young woman, and kept mostly to herself. She was surrounded at all times by the inquisitors of the Order of Embers, which Shaw understood was an ancient order the new Lady Waycrest had revived herself. That was fine with him, as it meant she required no special protection from his own people.

The day of the feast was the same sort of gray, ugly day the rest had been. Shaw was making the rounds, checking each post and receiving final updates from the agents stationed there, mind wandering to thoughts of a warm meal. He was on his way to the last stop before returning to the command tent when he heard a familiar voice over his shoulder.

“Master Shaw,” Lucille Waycrest greeted him warmly. She was striding up the hill from the direction of the frozen lake. In her arms she carried a basket full of what Shaw took to be herbs, though he couldn’t immediately discern which ones. Given her background as a noble, he couldn’t imagine they were for anything nefarious. Then again, given her background as a noble of _Drustvar_ , he supposed he ought to keep an eye out regardless.

“Lady Waycrest,” he replied, dipping his head in a bow.

“Lucy is fine,” she offered politely. Shaw only nodded, fully intending to ignore her generosity for the sake of propriety. No sense becoming too friendly. Given the events in Corlain, that seemed especially prudent.

“What brings you out here today?” she asked. “I hope you aren’t intending to fish.”

Shaw cast his eyes over her shoulder to the snow-covered ice of the frozen lake. He wasn’t certain the waters had ever been anything but solid. “No,” he agreed. “I’m only seeing to my agents.”

She looked around, her dark brows furrowed in confusion. “Your agents…?” When she caught the look Shaw was giving her, she made a quiet sound like _Oh!_ and smiled. “I suppose I should have known. Will you be returning up the hill, then?”

“Shortly, but if you require an escort—”

“No, no,” she shook her head. “That won’t be necessary.”

Shaw had his doubts. He hadn’t seen any sign of the inquisitors since leaving the command tent, and none of his agents had reported their presence, either. That meant Lucille Waycrest was alone, and therefore at risk. Everyone was at risk in Drustvar.

She must have sensed what he was thinking, because she made a reassuring gesture and said, “I understand your concern, Master Shaw, but I am safe out here on my own. In fact, I’m not _really_ alone at all.” She pointed up, and Shaw followed the direction of her finger to find a hawk soaring high overhead, its checkered wings holding steady in the cold mountain air. “Winston’s got his eye on me.”

“A sharp eye,” Shaw muttered absently. He watched the hawk for several more seconds, and then brought his attention back down to less dizzying heights. “In that case, I’ll leave you to continue on your way, and return to my duties.”

He made to bow again and take his leave of the conversation, but her subtle movements caught his eye and stopped him. Anyone else might have missed the signs, but Shaw knew such motions for what they were: she had something on her mind, and she didn’t necessarily know how to say it—or even _want_ to say it. “Is there something else I could do to assist you?” he asked.

She took a breath and held it for two or three seconds. “About Captain Fairwind,” she began hesitantly.

Shaw bit back on a groan and braced himself for the inevitable complaint. Flynn would make a move on anything with a pulse—and some things without one—with no intention of carrying through, and Shaw had long since come to the conclusion that he simply enjoyed the chaos it caused. Since Shaw wasn’t the sort given to jealousy, he usually ignored it. But flirting with a noble was another matter entirely; that was the sort of behavior that would reflect poorly on not only Flynn, but Shaw as well. He had been the one to vouch for Flynn’s continued service to the Alliance, after all.

“Yes,” he said tersely. What had he done _this_ time?

“He’s your...” she paused, nervously tapping her fingers against the basket.

“My responsibility, yes, I understand—”

“Your boyfriend?” she finished over the excuse already half-formed on Shaw’s lips.

He stuttered to a halt, aware his eyes had gone too wide to deny the truth with any grace. A small smile curled a corner of her mouth as she watched him, and he had the sinking feeling she had asked with every intention of catching him off guard. At that same moment, because his life was evidently one extended farce, he heard the slap of boots approaching through the mud and slush, and a familiar call of “Halloo!” from an all-too-familiar voice. He closed his eyes and willed Flynn to simply turn around and walk away, or fall into a previously undiscovered hole.

Not forever, of course.

But Flynn didn’t disappear, and he didn’t stop his inexorable approach from the top of the hill. Shaw caught sight of him from the corner of his eye as he sauntered up to them with all the ease of a man who had no idea how many knives Shaw had hidden on his person at that moment.

“Fancy finding you two here. I,” he pressed his palm to his own chest, “was sent to find you,” he finished, moving that same hand to Shaw’s chest. “Cook’s got a question about tonight’s feast. Something about… something.” He shrugged. “Figured if it was important enough to fetch you, it wouldn’t make much difference if I actually remembered the message.”

Shaw’s answer was a huff of hot air through his nose. He was still keenly aware of Lucille Waycrest’s eyes on him, and her coy smile that had only deepened with Flynn’s appearance. He watched her gaze flicker quickly as she took in everything Flynn _wasn’t_ saying that told her all she might possibly need to know about their relationship. If Shaw hadn’t been so preoccupied by his attempts to calm the blush he knew was creeping across his skin at that very moment, he might have been impressed.

Instead he only shrugged away from Flynn’s touch and nodded curtly, clearing his throat. “I’ll see to that now, then,” he started to say, only to have his words lost in Flynn’s boisterous lack of concern for common decency.

“What were you two talking about, anyway?” he asked, smirking. “Let me guess—you’ve gone in on a gift for me, haven’t you? I’m touched. It’s the thought that counts, of course, so I certainly won’t hold it against either of you that you’ve skimped on cost by sharing the credit.” He elbowed Shaw in the ribs and loudly whispered, “Bit strapped for gold, were you?”

Shaw attempted to convey sincere threats of impending violence through his eyes alone, but Flynn was either oblivious or else totally unconcerned. He laughed and threw an arm around Shaw’s shoulders. “He’s fun, isn’t he?” he asked Lucille.

Lucille’s smile broadened and her eyes glittered in the shine of the lightforged shields that surrounded them. She didn’t seem amused by Flynn’s inappropriate humor, but pleased by something else. Something she saw between the two of them. Shaw could have made a guess, but the likeliest answers only served to deepen his already embarrassing blush to a shade he was certain he’d never before reached. Against decades of training and every ounce of his better judgement, he looked down at his feet. Flynn’s arm was still around his shoulders.

“So, it seems I have my answer,” Lucille said happily.

Flynn made a curious sound. From the corner of his eye Shaw caught him quickly whipping his head back and forth between the two of them, no doubt wondering what he’d missed.

“If you don’t mind me saying so, I think you make a lovely couple,” she added with a quick, shy duck of her head.

Shaw looked up in time to catch the surprise that flickered across Flynn’s face before he managed to hide it away again. All thoughts Shaw had of a conspiracy to humiliate him vanished (mostly), but he was still left feeling profoundly flustered by her question and her subsequent correct assumption. He was not the sort of man who paraded his lovers around or spoke openly of his affections. To have them so plainly laid bare was off putting, to say the least.

He managed, “I—” before Flynn interrupted him yet again.

“Oh!” He waved a hand as though dismissing any possible thoughts to the contrary. “Of course. This one’s got me wrapped around his finger like a squid,” he said. “And speaking of fingers—”

“Lady Waycrest, please excuse us,” came bursting from Shaw’s mouth, almost like the words were propelled by an explosion. “Captain Fairwind and I—there’s business to attend to. The feast.” He stared at her blankly for just a few seconds too long. “Please excuse us,” he repeated, before promptly turning on his heel in the mud, one hand firmly on Flynn’s arm as he marched them both back in the direction of the outpost.

Over his shoulder Flynn called, “I’ll catch you up later, Lucy!” prompting Shaw to give his arm a shake.

“What are you _thinking?_ ” he hissed once they were alone. He dragged Flynn to the gap between two buildings, where the snow had been cleared by the wind, providing a small, semi-private overhang.

“Well, to tell you the truth, my first thought was that you might’ve been flirting. Angling a bit above your station, if you know what I mean. But then I thought, ‘Well, Mathias isn’t the sort of man to do that—’ given how much you adore me and all, ‘—and Lucy would give him what for if he did.’”

“Stop calling her that.”

“She told me to!” Flynn complained.

He spared them both the lecture on decorum they both knew would only end up being ignored, and opted instead for a more dramatic approach. One he knew was sure to get Flynn’s attention. Leaning in, he pinned Flynn to the worn wood of the building with both hands on either side of his head. The sudden uptake in Flynn’s breathing and the darkening of his eyes told him the move had achieved the desired effect. “What you and I do is between _us_ ,” he whispered fiercely. “And _not_ the sort of thing you share with a lady.”

“I’ve known some ladies in my day, and let me tell you—”

“A _lady_ ,” Shaw corrected, “not just a woman.” There were women whose vocabulary would curdle _Shaw’s_ blood, but regardless of how open-minded they were, interacting with nobility went hand in hand with certain rules.

“I’m sure she can handle it,” Flynn said smugly, hinting that he knew something more than what he was letting on.

Shaw could only close his eyes and hang his head at the fairly blatant innuendo. He didn’t care whether it was true, which it probably wasn’t. “You’re the absolute worst,” he muttered miserably.

Hipping him into the side of the opposite building with a breathless _“Oof!”_ Flynn reversed their positions, and put his own forearms against the wall beside _Shaw’s_ head, this time. He leaned in so that most of his body was molded to Shaw’s and his breath was in his ear as he spoke. “Aye. But that’s what you like about me, isn’t it,” he whispered with far too much confidence.

Shaw swallowed and found the presence of mind to shake his head. His body was responding to Flynn’s in ways that were terribly inconvenient, given their location. Or not, given some of their recent activities. “No,” he managed past the dry lump in his throat.

Flynn pulled back just enough to look at him. “Sorry?”

This wasn’t the right place for it—not even close—but it felt like the right time. Somehow, despite how terribly inconvenient and certainly inappropriate Flynn could be, Shaw knew he would never have a better opportunity to come clean about his feelings. A part of him thought it might be the potent combination of frustration, embarrassment, and arousal. Or else he had simply lost his mind, which seemed to just happen sometimes in Drustvar.

He grabbed the sleeve of Flynn’s coat and pulled him from the shelter of the two buildings, drawing him across the disgusting, muddy ground, toward the inn. Flynn sputtered and complained the whole way, but he dutifully closed his mouth as the neared the structure. Despite his bluster, he was aware of the importance of keeping their business private. At least when it came to everyone else but Lucille Waycrest, anyway.

“I’m going to have a word with you about this, Captain,” he said as he stomped up the stairs, drawing Flynn along behind him. Nothing more than a show for the locals, of course. It was hardly the first _talking to_ he’d given Flynn under their roof, and the script was almost always the same. Some part of him thought they had to know by now; surely no commander required quite so much private time with his men. But then another part of him, the part that observed others as a matter of survival, knew that most people simply didn’t care to notice. Without a compelling reason to extend their focus outside of the familiar details of their own lives, they would happily ignore those things that didn’t quite upset the status quo. That was the gray area in which Shaw operated. It just so happened to lend itself conveniently to his relationship, as well.

“Sit,” he said, shutting the door behind him with his foot. At nearly the same time he slid the bolt home to lock the door. “And don’t talk.”

“At all, or—”

“ _Flynn,_ ” Mathias growled.

“Right.”

Shaw paced. The lights were low, of course. He knew where every shadow obscured a wreath, and every bow could be found in the darkness. He had placed them just so with every intention of keeping them hidden from prying eyes. But in the face of the confession he was preparing to make, he suddenly found himself far less concerned over any potential embarrassment he might suffer by admitting his sentimental side to Flynn. In fact, he wondered how he could have ever cared at all, given the gravity of what he was about to say. Words he had rarely uttered to anyone else, and not at all in recent memory.

“I know I’m not supposed to talk, but could you at least sit down?” Flynn asked. “Your pacing’s making me dizzy.”

Shaw shook his head, but stopped anyway. He had his arms crossed tightly over his chest, and his mouth was drawn into a deep frown. “I wasn’t flirting with Lady Waycrest,” he said, as though that was in any way appropriate to the conversation.

Flynn nodded. “I gathered. From the… You know.” He made a vague gesture in Shaw’s direction. “All this.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Continue.”

With a sigh, Shaw reached up and rubbed his eyes. “I can’t do this in the dark.”

“I thought you lot at SI:7 did everything in the dark.” Flynn’s face was obscured by shadows, but there was a definite suggestion of waggling eyebrows in his comment. “Turn up the lamp, then,” he said.

Well, Shaw supposed, it couldn’t really be any worse than pulling a knife from his own body. Which he’d done. Twice. He reached over and turned the knob on the lamp to raise the light. The room was immediately bathed in its golden glow, banishing every hint of darkness except in the most out of the way places. Every bit of evergreen, every trace of red, every shimmering ounce of gold was lit up like the lightforged shields outside.

Flynn stared up at the decorations with a look that wasn’t quite surprise, and was far too much like wonder to be offensive.

“You said,” Shaw began, swallowing, “that’s why I like you. It isn’t.”

Flynn continued to gawk at the unexpectedly festive surroundings. He didn’t seem to be paying attention to anything else, actually.

“Flynn. Flynn, look at me.”

“How long have these been here?” he asked.

“They—a while. Look at me,” Shaw instructed.

Clearly, introducing Flynn to his well-kept secret just prior to pouring his heart out had been a miscalculation. Shaw let his arms fall to his sides and sighed. “Say it.”

Flynn finally blinked himself out of his stunned fixation on the walls. “Huh? Say what?” he asked.

“Whatever sarcastic comment you’re waiting to make. Let’s have it.”

That earned him an offended look that was only half-insincere performance for his benefit. “You wound me, Mathias.”

“Not nearly as much as I might if you don’t just say whatever it is that’s on your mind.” Shaw turned and dropped down on the end of the bed beside Flynn. “Just get it over with.” Sharing his feelings after having his fondness for Winter Veil eviscerated before his very eyes wouldn’t be easy, but it was better to know now, he reasoned. He braced himself for the coming storm of sarcasm.

“I was only thinking…” Flynn began, shifting uncomfortably on the bed beside him, “well, I don’t feel nearly so silly anymore,” he said at last. Reaching back with one hand, he dug into his pocket, producing a small, neatly wrapped box. “I know how you mainlanders get about your holidays, so I dug this up. Thought it might make you happy.” He pointedly lifted his eyes to a particularly ornate garland hanging over the door. “Didn’t quite know _how_ happy, I’ll confess.”

Shaw turned the box over in his hands. It was no bigger than his fist, and dented at the corners in a sure sign that Flynn had been carrying it around with him for some time. The ribbon was twisted and wrinkled, and looked to have been cut haphazardly with a knife. The paper around the box was dirty and torn. And yet… It was so clear that it had been brought to him with intent.

“I love you.”

“I know it’s not much to look at from the outside, but—” Flynn stopped himself with a small, strangled sound. He turned on the bed to look at Shaw, who was still staring intently at the gift. “You what?”

Shaw heard himself say the words, letting them tumble out inelegantly, almost surprised to hear them himself. “I love you,” he repeated. “You’re frequently awful, and you get in the way, and I love you.” He finally managed to make himself look at Flynn, who was staring at him like he’d just sprouted several tentacles. He didn’t seem to know what to say.

After what felt like several minutes had passed, Shaw turned back to the present, tracing the shape of the bow with the tips of his fingers. “I’ll understand if you don’t feel the same,” he started to say, only to have his words abruptly swallowed up in Flynn’s mouth and muffled under his tongue. He was wrapped in arms honed by hauling sails and carrying cargo, and the heavy scent of the sea assaulted his senses.

“Right, clothes off,” Flynn demanded when he finally set Shaw free. He began tugging at his own coat, and ended up with one sleeve off, leaving the rest dangling from his other arm. A heavy, useless weight that proceeded to get in the way of what was swiftly becoming something far more intimate than Shaw had expected—though he probably should have known better. He pulled the other sleeve from Flynn’s arm as they fell back onto the bed in a tangle. The present bounced along beside them.

Shaw heard a faint jingling within the box, and he smiled. “I tell you that I love you, and your first instinct is to get me naked?”

“My first instinct under most circumstances is to get you naked, Mathias. This is just an unusually convenient excuse.”

“Sentimental,” Shaw chuckled.

“You’re _really_ not in any position to make such accusations, Spymaster,” Flynn muttered against his exposed throat. He was busy working Shaw out of his armor, casting the pieces aside to join his coat on the floor. Shaw left him to it, and reached for the present. Flynn made a happy sound and said, “Now, _this_ is an exchange I can appreciate. You unwrapping your gift, and me—” he pulled the last of the leather cord from Shaw’s tooled corset with a flourish, “—unwrapping mine.”

Shaw rolled his eyes, but didn’t bother to hide his smile. He felt when Flynn reached the skin of his abdomen and sucked in a breath, letting his eyes slide shut. His fingers faltered on the ribbon, and he bucked his hips at the way Flynn’s gentle touch tickled. When he finally managed to untie the bow the top of the package fell open, dumping a set of three small bells on a leather cord onto his chest. He picked up the decorative necklace to examine it more closely. A small, blue bow was tied to the side, giving the impression of something meant to be worn closer to the throat.

All at once the image those thoughts conjured set Shaw’s mind ablaze, and he rolled Flynn over on the bed, pushing him onto his back. “Put this on,” he said, holding out the bells.

“Sorry?”

“I want you to wear it.”

That earned him a curiously cocked eyebrow and a smirk that said Flynn understood _exactly_ what it was he had in mind. He took the bells and untied the leather cord. “You know, I don’t think you’ll be able to maintain this little disciplinary ruse of yours much longer if the rhythmic thumping coming from your room is accompanied by _actual_ bells.”

“I’d be interested to test the limits of what the innkeepers are willing to ignore.”

“I love it when you talk like that.”

Flynn tied the cord around his neck so that the leather was looped twice, keeping the bells snug against his skin with the blue satin bow off to one side. His auburn hair hung loose around his shoulders, framing the blue and gold. The effect made _him_ look like the gift, and Shaw had every intention of enjoying his present. He waited for Flynn to divest himself of his remaining clothes before giving his thigh a light smack and instructing, “Turn over. On your knees.”

“Oh, this may just become my favorite holiday.”

Shaw held his breath and waited.

“After Brewfest, of course,” Flynn quickly amended.

Shaw snorted. “Thought so.” He reached for the bedside table, where he kept the vial he had brought to Drustvar, along with certain less-than-savory tools of his trade. His reasoning was that anyone who happened upon the small crystal container might assume it contained nothing more than oil for his many, _many_ blades. As it happened… it did not. He dipped his fingers into the mouth of the vial to get them slick, and the oil warmed quickly in his palm.

“Mathias,” Flynn panted. He set his forehead to the bed and shifted his knees apart.

Shaw shushed him gently, aiming for a soothing touch as he brought his fingers to Flynn’s hole and began to rub small, slow circles. “Relax.”

Flynn bit back on a growl. “I’m no blushing virgin, you know.” He wiggled his hips. “Get moving, Master Shaw.”

As an answer, Shaw reached for Flynn’s throat and slid his hand around the front so that he could grasp the bells, silencing them in his palm. Flynn’s impatience was familiar territory, and not just in the bedroom; Shaw had made a habit of reminding him that sometimes the reward was worth the wait. It only took a single touch, now. Flynn fell silent, and beneath his fingers Shaw could feel the bob of his throat as he swallowed. Coupled with the collar he had made of the bells, it was almost an intoxicating mixture of obedience and control. It spoke highly of the trust Flynn placed in him, and in that moment, kneeling on the bed between Flynn’s legs, he was certain he couldn’t possibly have loved him more. He leaned down and placed a kiss at the nape of Flynn’s neck. “Very good,” he whispered. “Now, lift your hips.”

Flynn did as he was told, silently this time, and Shaw stifled a groan. He rewarded the prompt response by giving Flynn what it was he wanted and breaching him slowly, working his fingers into him one at a time. Flynn bit down on his lip and moaned, and Shaw pressed harder. He crooked his fingers and heard a sharp gasp, and knew he’d found the right spot. He offered Flynn some more sweet words, and while he spoke he pushed and pulled his fingers in and out of the tight, quivering heat, never breaking his rhythm. A sheen of sweat had begun to form on Flynn’s back, making his skin shimmer in the lamplight. His breath was coming hard and heavy, and he had gathered the bed sheets in his hands, bunching them tight in his fists. In the middle of all the huffing and whining, he begged, “Mathias, please— _ah_ — _please_ …”

The thin tether holding Shaw’s control finally snapped, and he withdrew his fingers, ignoring Flynn’s contradictory objection. His palm was still glistening with oil, and he smoothed the remainder over his own flushed cock before lining himself up, teasing lightly with the touch. His reward was a needy sob that sent a surge of arousal pumping through his veins, and prompted him to finally press forward and push into his lover. It was a welcoming heat, a familiar, snug fit, and like every time before it stole his breath for just a few seconds. He found his center as his hips settled against Flynn’s backside, and for a moment he simply stayed there, breathing.

“You’re doing so well,” he said when he felt Flynn fully relax around him. He heard an answering whine. “Do you want me to move?”

Flynn nodded against the bed.

“Up, then.” Shaw patted his hip. He waited for Flynn to lift himself back up onto his hands. At some point he would wind up with his face pressed to the bed again; it was inevitable, his arms would simply refuse to hold him up any longer. But for now, and with the bells around his neck, Shaw wanted him up. He wanted to watch Flynn’s hair sway with every thrust, and see his head hanging between his shoulders as he surrendered to the pleasure.

He pulled back and rocked forward, and the sound that met his efforts was a groan from Flynn and the cheerful jingle of the bells. What surprised Shaw was how much he _liked_ _it_. How his own arousal surged and his cock throbbed when he heard it. He did it again, and again, and each time the bells and Flynn’s inarticulate pleas stoked his lust a little bit hotter. He wasn’t even certain Flynn knew anymore what sort of gift he had given Shaw. What it really meant to him.

“You’re so good,” he said, half-curled over Flynn’s back as he thrust mindlessly, chasing that blissful feeling. “You’re so good to me, Flynn.” He huffed a laugh and tightened his fingers on Flynn’s hips. “I love you so much.” He could hardly believe how true it really was.

Flynn whined again, and Shaw cursed at the sudden squeeze around him. A rolling mantra of _yes_ , and _more_ , and other words Shaw couldn’t quite make out tumbled from his lips, all set to the rhythmic ringing of the bells. Shaw opened his mouth to speak, to say something that might convey to Flynn just how grateful and happy he was, when he caught a slurred mumble; words he was barely able to make out over the bells.

 _“Love you,”_ Flynn breathed. _“Love you,_ _I love you,”_ he insisted.

Shaw froze. He heard Flynn’s indignant objection, but it was only background noise. He pressed his forehead to Flynn’s back, between his shoulders, and wrapped his arms around his chest in a tight hug. “You do,” he said, swallowing hard. More relieved than he thought he had any right to be. The confession had been terrifying, but knowing Flynn returned his feelings washed away all the anxiety, all the doubt.

“A little less at the moment!” Flynn abruptly complained. He made a happy sound when Shaw rolled his hips just a bit. Sighing for effect, he said, “Course I love you, you silly spy.”

Shaw felt, more than saw, as Flynn turned his head to look over his shoulder. Shaw glanced up at him and caught his crooked grin. “I thought you might have been sparing my feelings,” he confessed.

“Only just learned you’ve got any to spare,” Flynn teased. He threw his head to shake the bells, emphasizing his point. Then he groaned again as the movement caused Shaw to shift inside him. “Alright, Mathias, sweet as it is, this is beginning to border on cruel.”

Shaw nodded and pushed up until he was upright again, but he didn’t move right away. Instead, using both hands, he slowly drew his fingertips down the length of Flynn’s back, from the nape of his neck to his hips, keeping himself buried deep the whole time. He felt Flynn shiver, and smiled. “Happy Winter Veil,” he said as he finally began to move again.

Flynn cursed and shivered around him. “Happy—” he groaned, going down on his forearms as Shaw started to thrust a little harder, “—Winter Veil. Now,” he breathed, letting his head fall to the bed, “let’s make it a good one, love.”


End file.
